Trapper's Real Job
by Allyson
Summary: Trapper finds out what his 'proper' job is. Friendship fic


**MASH – Trapper's Real Job.**

By Allyson Dudley

Disclaimer – I do not own any of the character's or settings of MASH – This is just written for fun. (Honest)

(A/N – I'm not a Doctor so if the scenario is unlikely never mind! It's for fun remember!)

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The rain poured down on the MASH 4077 as it had been for the past two days without signs of stopping. After a recent flu epidemic and heavy casualty load, morale was at an all time low. Mail call had not helped either. Captain 'Trapper' McIntyre had confessed to his bunkmate 'Hawkeye' Pierce that a new picture of his two girls had caused him to become homesick, while Colonel Henry Blake had become depressed on receiving a postcard from his wife, who was holidaying at a beach with her sister. A batch of delayed mail from Frank Burns' wife had caused Major 'Hot lips' Houlihan to seethe with jealousy and Klinger's fake Dear John letter had not worked in sending him home to comfort his distraught nerves.

Hawkeye, however, was more concerned for his friend, Trapper, than his own lack of mail. Trapper had developed a racking cough during the flu epidemic and it had steadily become worse. Though Trapper denied it, Hawkeye knew that he was ill but could find no way to get Trapper to admit to it. Trapper's coughing had got to the point where it disturbed Hawkeye's and Frank's sleep.

Hawkeye returned to The Swamp after finishing his shift in OR to find Trapper in a restless sleep, tossing and turning, without a blanket despite the cold weather. Shrugging out of his wet overcoat, Hawkeye went straight to the still for a drink. A chest-racking cough caused Hawkeye to look at Trapper in concern. The blonde-haired man's face was pale and there was a pained expression on his face as he coughed. Putting down his drink, Hawkeye went to sit on the edge of Trapper's bed. Checking his friend's forehead, he found that Trapper was suffering from a high fever. Surprised, Hawkeye watched as McIntyre's expression relaxed when he placed his cold hand on his face.

"Okay, Trap, it's time for you to stop being stubborn and get yourself checked out and made better," Hawkeye said, firmly, shaking his head at the extent of how ill his friend had become. Before he could shake him awake, he heard Trapper mumble something unintelligible under his breath.

"Louise . . . look after the kids . . . love them . . . miss you," murmured Trapper, sleepily, this time louder for his companion to hear. Hawkeye realized he was talking in his sleep – a new occurrence that Hawkeye had never heard from Trapper before. "Please, Louise . . . don't cry . . . I'll be home soon."

Feeling awkward listening to Trapper's conversation with his memories of his wife, Hawkeye once again went to shake him awake when suddenly Trapper startled him by shouting his name.

"Hawkeye! Be careful!" Whatever Trapper was dreaming was causing him to become more agitated and restless. "Don't move . . . there's a mine in front of you . . . No! He can't be dead! . . . Henry, tell me it's not true . . . I can't live like this, I'll ki-"

"Trapper, wake up!" snapped Hawkeye, unwilling to hear the last word. Shaking hi, harder than he intended, he demanded, "Trap, wake up now!"

It took a moment or two but gradually McIntyre woke up and groggily fixed his attention on the man sat next to him. His frown seemed to disappear on seeing his friend.

"What's the matter, Hawk?" he asked, tiredly, his voice hoarse. "More wounded?"

"No," replied Hawkeye, studying the other man's face. "But I think it's time to sort out that cough of yours."

"It's nothing," dismissed trapper, irritably, as he slowly sat up.

"Trapper, you have a fever and you were talking in your sleep," protested Hawkeye.

"I don't talk in my sleep," denied Trapper, standing up and stamping into his boots. "At least not since I was a kid with tonsillitis."

"Aha!" Hawkeye cried out, triumphantly. "A sign of illness."

"Aha, nothing," replied Trapper, pulling on his coat. "It doesn't mean anything."

"Where are you going?" asked Hawkeye, turning to watch the other man move to the door.

"For a walk," replied Trapper. "It's too warm in here."

"That does it," confirmed Hawkeye, snatching up his own coat and following the Captain. "I'm taking you to get a check up."

"You can't make me," replied Trapper, leading the way outside, ignoring the rain that hit him.

"Do you really want to come down with pneumonia from being out here?" demanded Hawkeye.

Trapper seemed to realize for the first time the weather he was standing in and looked at Hawkeye in concern. Reaching over, he flicked Hawkeye's hood up to stop the other man from becoming soaked. "You'll catch a cold if you're not careful."

Hawkeye didn't know whether to laugh or hit him. Before he could come up with a sarcastic comeback, a gun shot resounded from somewhere near the camp outskirts. Someone shouted "Sniper!" while the few officers braving the rain ran for cover. There was another sound of gunfire, this time much closer, as Hawkeye grabbed Trapper and pushed him to the ground. He couldn't make out if Trapper was coughing or groaning as they both lay flat on the ground until the attack had ended.

"We need to get to the hospital," Hawkeye said. "Henry might know what's going on."

"Unless he's in the shower again like last time," commented Trapper, hoarsely.

Noticing his friend's ragged expression and croaking voice, Hawkeye asked, "You okay?"

"Just fine," responded Trapper, scanning the compound warily. "Let's go."

Hawkeye helped Trapper to his feet before they cautiously ran towards Post-Op and Henry's office, surprisingly without the sound of gun shots.

"Think the sniper's gone?" asked Hawkeye, once they'd found themselves safe indoors.

Henry entered from his office and spotted the two officers. "What the hell is going on here? Why are there gun shots?"

"We thought you could tell us," replied Hawkeye. "Henry, we have a sniper."

"Again? Well, there goes my golf game today," Henry sighed. He noticed McIntyre's quiet state. "McIntyre, something wrong?"

"Trapper?" questioned Hawkeye, when he failed to reply.

Trapper McIntyre turned an ashen face towards his two companions with a lock of stunned realization.

"Hawk?" he questioned, with an almost childlike innocence, before moving his hand away from his side. Blood was smeared against his palm and all other his T-shirt and coat. "I think I've sprung a leak."

Hawkeye and Henry stared at him in shock before a violent coughing bout startled them back to reality. The coughing caused the wound to bleed more and Trapper groaned in pain. Both men caught him as his knees began to buckle.

"Quick, get him to surgery," Henry ordered, helping to carry the semi-conscious surgeon. "We have to make sure the bullets out and it hasn't punctured the lung."

Hawkeye nodded in agreement and they left for Post-Op.

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A few hours later, Henry Blake found Hawkeye standing at the foot of a hospital bed at the far end of the ward. McIntyre lay still and pale on the bed, a blanket covering the bandages around his side. He was heavily sedated due to the fear that his coughing would tear his stitches open.

"They caught the sniper," Henry told the surgeon. "The MP's are dealing with him. How's McIntyre doing?"

"As long as he doesn't rip his stitches or develop an infection he should pull through okay," Hawkeye replied, unable to pull his attention away from his friend's sleeping form.

Henry checked the chart hanging at the end of the bed before clapping Hawkeye on the shoulder. "Get some rest, Pierce," he suggested. "He's not going anywhere. He'll still be asleep when you get back. C'mon, the nurses will look after him and they'll fetch you ASAP if anything does go wrong."

Hawkeye hesitated a moment before allowing himself to be escorted out of the hospital and back to The Swamp. Sleep was something that eluded him though. Two hours later he found himself still sat on his bed staring at Trapper's empty side of the tent. Unable to settle, he made his way back to the hospital ward and to Trapper's sick bed. The nurse on duty smiled at him and went about her duties, leaving him in privacy. After checking the medical chart to check on Trapper's recovery he sat down on the chair by the bed.

"See what happens when you don't cure a cough," Hawkeye told the sleeping Trapper, his voice low so as not to disturb the other patients in the ward. "When you wake up, I'm gonna feed you so much cough medicine your eyes will spin. No more Mr Nice Guy."

Sighing, he leaned back in his chair, getting himself comfortable for a long night. Within minutes, he was asleep.

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The next morning, Major Margaret 'Hot Lips' Houlihan found Hawkeye asleep in the chair next to Trapper's bed. His feet propped up on the bed and his head hanging slightly off the chair; Hot Lips didn't have the heart to wake him up. Someone during the night had covered Hawkeye with a blanket and she adjusted it before checking on Trapper. Though their mischievous antics and unmilitary work attitudes riled her constantly, Hot Lips held a hidden soft spot for the two surgeons, especially Trapper. His chest infection had worried her though she would never have admitted to it. So when she discovered that Trapper hadn't developed and infection from the gun shot and his fever hadn't become worse, she sighed in relief.

Houlihan had just finished administrating her patient with a dose of prescribed medication when she noticed Hawkeye begin to stir on the other side of the bed. She was marking off the medical chart when Hawkeye's sleepy eyes finally opened. Looking around, disorientated, Hawkeye sat up and checked on Trapper before acknowledging the Head Nurse.

"He's out of danger," she informed him, before he could ask. "His vitals are stable and he's responding positively to treatment. Antibiotics are being used to reduce his chest infection. He'll be under supervision for a few days for his injury."

Hawkeye grinned in relief. "Thanks, Margaret. If my spine didn't feel so twisted from sitting in this lousy chair, I'd kiss you."

"Captain," she admonished, sternly.

"Don't let me stop you," interrupted a hoarse voice. "I always thought you'd make a cute couple."

"Trapper!"

"McIntyre!"

"How do you feel?" asked Hawkeye, concerned.

"Why do doctors ask such stupid questions?" replied Trapper, trying to sit up but being restrained by his two colleagues. "I feel like someone's stabbed me with a red hot poker and then used a beaver to scrub my tongue with."

"Well I'm glad to see you haven't lost your wit," smiled Hawkeye. "Now, stay lying down so you don't tear your stitches."

"But it makes me want to cough," complained Trapper.

"Then don't cough," responded Hawkeye.

Margaret brought some pillows over to prop his head and shoulders up a bit to relieve the discomfort.

"Thanks," smiled Trapper, gratefully.

She smiled before leaving the ward to tell the Colonel that Trapper was conscious. Trapper noticed Hawkeye's mixed expression and asked him what was wrong.

"You scared me," confessed Hawkeye, after making sure no-one else was listening.

"Well, if it makes you feel better, I was scared too," replied Trapper, smiling to ease his friend's worries. "It's not every day you get shot by a sniper."

"I didn't mean that," Hawkeye shook his head.

"Is this about my cough?" guessed Trapper. "Chest infections aren't life threatening. I'm a Doctor, I should know."

"You should know when to admit defeat and take medicine," scolded Hawkeye, lightly. "Nobody expects you to be invincible. We all get ill; it's not something you should run away from."

"Look, if I'd taken the medicine it would have made me too drowsy to operate," explained Trapper. "I can't let kids die because I'm more worried about my own health."

Hawkeye laughed to himself, surprising his friend.

"What?"

"You don't really believe you were drafted over here to be just a surgeon, do you?" asked Hawkeye. "Your job's to help me from going over the edge. How are you going to do that if you come down with pneumonia or if you rip your stitches from coughing too hard?"

Trapper looked at his friend with a mixture of disbelief and shock. "You really believe that, don't you?"

"Of course I do," agreed Hawkeye. "I wouldn't have lasted a day if it hadn't been for you distracting me from the realities of war. Who else could come up with ways of teasing Frank?"

Trapper started laughing but winced in pain at the motion. Once he'd recovered, he asked, "What's brought this on, Hawk?"

At first it didn't look like Hawkeye was going to respond, but then he admitted, "Remember when I said you were talking in your sleep? Well, you said something that made me realize what a good friend you are and it occurred to me that you probably didn't know how much I appreciate you're friendship."

At Trapper's questioning look, Hawkeye shook his head. Get some rest, Trap," he instructed him. "I'll see you later."

And with that he got up and left the ward.

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A few days later, Trapper's chest infection had cleared up and his wound was healing up well enough for him to move back into The Swamp. However, a sudden influx of wounded meant that Henry Blake couldn't agree to allowing Trapper two weeks RR in Tokyo. Instead, Trapper insisted on doing light duties whenever allowed to. That's why when Hawkeye returned from a particular long shift in OR, he found his friend looking over medical reports for Henry.

"Honey, I'm home," he called out, as he entered The Swamp and collapsed on his bed.

"Rough day at the office?" teased Trapper, handing him a martini without moving from his chair.

"You haven't been drinking this, have you?" questioned Hawkeye. "You know you can't drink on the medication you're on."

"No, I haven't, Mother," murmured Trapper, unhappily.

"Don't worry, Trap. Once you're better you can drink as much gin as your liver will let you," promised his friend. "What've you been doing today?"

"Oh, you know, the usual," replied Trapper, non-chalently. "Watched the wounded come in, wrote a letter to Louise, looked at these reports and stitched Frank into his blankets."

A muffled "What the -?! I've gone blind! Somebody help me!" came from Frank's bunk.

Hawkeye looked at Trapper in astonishment and glee as Trapper's laughter echoed through the tent. As Hawkeye joined in with his friend's laughter, he was comforted by the thought that Trapper would soon be 100 better and bantering with him again as normal in no time.

The End.


End file.
